


Writing's On the Wall

by onereader



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Art, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Don't copy to another site, Famous Harry Potter, First Kiss, Getting Together, Graffiti, Locker Room, M/M, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 05:58:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19267207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/onereader
Summary: In which the Auror department is surprisingly artistic, Draco is still an overdramatic shit, Harry still makes the most of any trouble that finds him, and getting horizontal is the solution to everyone's problems.





	Writing's On the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this picture with hilarious lines contributed by the lovely Jeldenil and Tai. Betaed by the wonderful Malenkayacherepakha <3

The first time Harry ever noticed graffiti that referenced him had been in the Quidditch locker rooms at Hogwarts. He had been pretty sure it was Draco or one of his cronies that had slipped into the Gryffindor area and spelled miniature Dementors to appear whenever someone walked past the blank game-play board. Oliver Wood had cursed and spluttered when he realised they had erased his intricate diagrams and game-plans, fiercely complaining to McGonagall.

 

Some of the highlights while he was at Hogwarts had been during the Triwizard Tournament - there had suddenly been loads of graffiti about him. None of it complimentary until he’d completed the first challenge, admittedly. “POTTER STINKS” had flashed across every toilet door in the castle in a lurid, flashing green for three weeks before Filch managed to convince Professor Flitwick to help him remove the charms.

 

Then a tiny doodle of him and a dragon appeared in an alcove on the way to the History of Magic classroom. Complete with glowing dragon flames it showed Harry and the Horntail flying a wild and cartoonish circuit around a sketchy Hogwarts, their endless chase looping every minute or so. It was probably Dean’s handiwork, the lines confident and skillful even though it was charmed onto rough stone walls - and his practice with art charms had come a long way since his first Quidditch banner. Within a week it had been scratched through though, a proud ‘CEDRIC’S THE BEST’ scrawled over it. 

 

After the war, he saw it more regularly. The mark of the Deathly Hallows spelled onto walls, scratched into bar tables. Sometimes a cheeky  _ ‘If HP sees this and wants a good time, Floo me!’  _ with addresses charmed underneath. It made trips to pub bathrooms, usually home of the more lurid examples of graffiti, an embarrassing trial sometimes - his friends always welcomed ammunition for their endless teasing. 

 

Thankfully, he wasn't the only one targeted by renegade artists and overzealous fans. Ron had flushed beetroot red (clashing horribly with his hair) for a full half hour after seeing a particularly explicit suggestion about himself scrawled in muggle pen across the wall in the Leaky Cauldron. Harry had cackled all the way back to their tabled and regaled Hermione, Neville, Seamus, and Dean with the details while Ron hid behind his pint. 

 

He was pleased when he joined the Auror Cadets and nobody seemed to be star-struck. Their tutors were strict but fair. Even Draco Malfoy wasn’t up to his old schoolboy tricks. It appeared that his attitude had matured just as well as the rest of him. 

 

On too many occasions to count Harry caught himself appreciating just how well Draco filled out his cadet uniform, especially the clinging material of their work-out gear which left less to the imagination than he thought he should be subjected to at work...while still desperately wanting to see more.

 

The only issue Harry had with his cohort of fellow cadets, and even some of the wider Auror staff, was the giggling. He  _ knew _ it wasn't to do with his ‘man who lived twice’ reputation because they’d made a point of pairing him with an Auror in his sixties for sparring classes during his first month of training. He’d had his arse absolutely handed to him during class after class for four solid weeks, and that had quelled any potential hero worship before it could start.

 

No. This was the kind of giggling that made you think people were talking about you. He walked into the break room and was immediately on edge as three fellow cadets started sniggering into their tea cups, going silent as soon as he turned around and made eye contact. And it happened when Draco joined sessions too. Not to mention the sly looks and excited mutterings that broke out whenever he and Draco were paired together in classes or for fieldwork. 

 

It was driving Harry mad. That morning in duelling practice he had been partnered with Draco to fight against another pair of cadets, learning how to effectively work offensive and defensive spells while working in a pair - just like they would once they were full Aurors. He had been surprised earlier in the year at how well he and Draco worked together when fighting, but on reflection realised they knew each other’s duelling style so well from attacking each other that it sort of made sense.

 

Thankfully it was Friday, and the day was done. He and Draco had been on clear-up duty, packing away the cushioned mats and returning the sparring room back to its blank slate, ready for the first class on Monday. So it was just the two of them in the changing rooms, showering before heading home. 

 

Ordinarily Harry would have just skipped out and headed home for a shower in the comfort of his own place, but he’d promised to meet his friends at the Leaky and only had half an hour before he was due to get the first round in.

 

With just him and Draco in the shower rooms it was actually peaceful, no sounds but the rush of water, no laughing cadets making Harry feel like he must have something on his face. Other than the obvious of course.

 

Just as he was drying off, thoughts of beer and a big basket of chips filling his mind, Harry’s peace was rudely interrupted.

 

“POTTER!” Draco barked. “ _ Explain  _ yourself!”

 

Harry hurried to wrap his towel around his waist, and padded out to the main changing area to see what he was being accused of. Even the sight of Draco, his own towel riding low on slim hips, his hair still dripping water onto his surprisingly broad chest, didn't distract Harry from the sheer horror induced by the entire  _ wall _ of graffiti he found.

 

There was the usual house pride slogans, the Hufflepuffs perhaps not so surprisingly prolific taggers given their famous loyalty. There was even a Deathly Hallows icon - a remnant from those first months post-war when Harry saw them everywhere. Some clever bugger had even charmed a big marker quill to stick to the wall - so anyone wanting to add their own touch to the wall wouldn't find themselves without a writing implement.

 

But the pièce de résistance was the two feet tall portrait someone had drawn of him and Draco _together._ As in. Carnally. It didn’t have quite the artistic flair of Dean’s magical moving paintings, but mini-Harry and mini-Draco didn’t seem to let that hold them back - both of them looking over their shoulders with surprised expressions while they continued rocking and thrusting together. With gusto.

 

Harry felt a hot flush creeping up his neck, and it was only half from embarrassment. His fellow cadets’ laughter and meaningful glances between him and Draco suddenly made sense. Clearly the whole bloody lot of them were in on it - given the number of different handwriting styles decorating the wall. 

 

Draco was similarly pink, points of colour high on his cheekbones giving away his emotional state - just like when he got angry at school. If Harry wasn't sure Draco was about to launch into a full blown rant he might even have taken a moment to admire the way his rage made his eyes so bright. But an angry Draco was a long-winded Draco, and the pub was calling Harry.

 

“Clearly I didn’t bloody do this, Malfoy.” He gestured at the layers of writing and doodles. “This is the whole fucking team at it. Look! I’m not a Hufflepuff am I?!”

 

A scoff was his only response. Then Draco pointed out the  _ ‘I need HP like a grindylow needs water’  _ tag, and raised one pointed eyebrow meaningfully at Harry.

 

“I think  _ this _ smacks of your usual ego actually, even if you did seem to have gotten over that recently. And look - isn’t that your abysmal handwriting?!” 

 

Harry peered at the word Draco was pointing at.

 

“What the fuck is ‘drarry’ though? I definitely didn’t write that. I don’t even know that spell.” 

 

Draco rolled his eyes so hard Harry was surprised they didn’t fall out of his head. So overdramatic.

 

“It’s clearly a fucking portmanteau, Potter, you absolute  _ idiot.  _ Anyway. Aren’t we ignoring the elephant in the room here? They’ve drawn us  _ fucking _ for Merlin’s sake -  _ in our place of work! _ ”

 

Draco was working himself up to high dudgeon now, and Harry couldn’t exactly blame him. It  _ was _ inappropriate. But it was also pretty funny. And frankly, from his perspective, he couldn’t blame the rest of their class for getting a bit carried away. He knew he must have contributed to whatever idea they had of the two of them together, with the way his eyes lingered on Draco’s arse so regularly. Even so, they should probably talk to the head of the Cadet teaching team, get this all sorted out before it spilled into a more public forum. 

But winding Draco up had been one of Harry’s specialty subjects up to this point in his life, and far more fun than resisting Imperio or defeating Dark Lords, so he decided to indulge himself. Even if he ended up late for pub night. Or with a black eye.

 

“You’re right, you know. This  _ is _ wrong.” He paused for a moment, taking in Draco’s approving nod before gleefully marching on to turn it into a thunderous glare. “Who said you get to top?”

 

A strangled noise escaped Draco’s open mouth, his brows twisted with frustration. Harry tried to keep his soaring satisfaction hidden, loving the play of emotions over Draco’s usually calm face. There was just  _ something _ about seeing him get all flustered that made Harry feel the same way he did when he reached out to grab the snitch. Elated.

 

“ _ That’s _ what you take issue with?” 

 

He was even gesturing with his hands now. Elegant fingers pointed angrily at their twins on the wall - still merrily copulating - while the other hand gripped the knot holding his towel up. Harry couldn’t help but drop his gaze for a moment, imagining what he might see if he annoyed Draco enough for him to let go of that towel for a moment. 

 

Ever the hopeful Gryffindor, Harry leant forward and grabbed the marker quill. He grinned at Draco before drawing a big arrow pointing at their doodled likenesses, then wrote in bold letters ‘OK BUT HARRY TOPS’. He drew back and watched as Draco read his addition to the wall, waiting for the inevitable bomb to go off. This was better than sparring.

 

“There. I fixed it.”

 

But instead of an explosion of the poshest invective he’d ever had the pleasure of hearing - Draco’s command of archaic swear words was genuinely one of the highlights of their working together - Harry watched as Draco fell silent. His eyes were wide as he stared at what Harry had written, the spots of pink high on his cheekbones blooming into a flush that travelled down his neck and even onto his chest. 

 

And now Harry was looking at his nipples.  _ Fuck. _

 

When he managed to drag his treacherous eyes away from those pert, pink, perfectly lickable buds he found Draco’s sharp gaze trained fully on his face. This didn’t bode well.

 

“You...fixed it? ‘ _Okay but Harry tops_ ’ is you fixing it? That was the _only_ part of this whole thing-” he gestured wildly at the wall. “That’s the only bit you have an issue with? Not the whole. Drarry thing. Seriously?”

 

He actually sounded almost plaintive. Harry suddenly regretted taking the piss, even if he hadn’t exactly lied at any point in this little melodrama. 

 

“Um. Well. Obviously we should talk to Auror Lessing about it, it’s not fair that they’re doing this just to us. But. Well. I’m not offended people might think of us together I guess?” He shrugged his shoulders and nodded at their graffiti counterparts. “They look like they’re enjoying it anyway!”

 

Draco’s eyes narrowed as he watched Harry huff a nervous laugh. He advanced one step toward Harry, and Harry couldn’t help but notice the way his body still glittered with droplets of water from his shower. Couldn’t help thinking about what a pleasant way to spend some time it would be to lick each one of them. He hauled his thoughts back from that treacherous direction; his towel didn’t hide much and it  _ definitely  _ wouldn’t hide a very work-inappropriate stiffy.

 

“They do look like they’re having fun, don’t they.” Draco murmured. 

 

Harry swallowed hard at the deep timbre of his voice. 

 

“ _ That _ Harry doesn’t seem to be too disappointed to be on the receiving end. Shame it’s not an accurate reflection of reality.”

 

All thoughts of propriety flew out of Harry’s mind at that. Draco sodding Malfoy was flirting with him. Undeniably. Could a bit of embarrassing graffiti really be the thing that pushed them beyond the weird tension they’d had since eighth year?

 

“Well. Um.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just the assumption really. Probably because I’m shorter than you. But I’m pretty, um, versatile. And, ah, height difference doesn’t matter much in bed, I find.”

 

For the span of a heartbeat Harry feared he’d misread the situation, overstepped the mark. But then a wicked grin grew on Draco’s face and he knew he’d hit just the right spot. He stepped closer still, making Harry tilt his head up slightly to maintain their eye contact. 

 

The small space between them filled with heat, and Harry felt like if he breathed in deeply enough their chests might even touch. He wondered if Draco was still holding his towel so tightly, but didn’t dare look down, didn’t want to break this moment stretching between them. 

 

“I agree Potter. Very unfair of them to pigeon-hole you. They should know better by now.” He raised an eyebrow, challenge in every line of his face. “I was thinking of skipping pub night this evening in favour of a hot bath and a curry. But, as you’re feeling so  _ versatile _ I’m happy to be flexible too. How about I join you and the rest of the motley crew for the obligatory Friday night pint, and then you join  _ me  _ for food?”

 

Harry felt his mouth drop open, shocked Draco had been the one of them to finally come out and say it so boldly. Draco just leaned closer still, his breath hot against Harry’s ear as he whispered, sending a corresponding shiver of excitement down his spine.

 

“I reckon we can test out your height difference theory, I’m sure my sofa would do the trick too - if you want to demonstrate for me?”

 

The image that conjured in Harry’s mind was enough to make him snap his mouth shut and stifle a groan of desire. He reached out to finally touch Draco, and closed the tiny distance between them to kiss him fully on the mouth. A broad palm at his waist, gripping tightly, pulled a gasp out of him. He dragged himself away from Draco’s mouth with difficulty, already panting slightly.

 

“Fuck pub night, get dressed. Last one to the apparition point is paying for the curry.”

 

With that Harry dashed across the room to pull his trousers on, grinning as he watched Draco wrangle his own on over still damp legs. He couldn’t wait to see what this mutual competitive spirit would create outside of the quidditch pitch or duelling ring, but he was sure it would be absolutely worth the tongue-lashing he’d get from Ron for ditching the sacred Friday night drinks for Draco.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic - come and say hello on [my Tumblr](https://shealwaysreads.tumblr.com) for more! <3


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